Thursday, April 30, 2015

What is it?I will be Blogging everyday beginning on April First with a topic themed on something with the letterA, then on April second another topic with the letter B as the theme, and so on until I finish on April thirtieth with the theme based on the letter Z. The theme of the day is the letter scheduled for that day.

My theme will be short fictional (well mostly fictional) stories about women. Each woman’s name will begin with the appropriate letter of the alphabet for that day.

Zelda has been lurking, only coming out of the shadows three times. We first meet her in “Hanna’s Ring. The next time she makes an appearance is in the story titled “Kate - The Eyes of The Swan.”
And finally she thwarts “Xena” by outbidding her at an auction.

“Who exactly is Zelda?”

I’ll let her speak for herself.

Zelda

Hello my darlings. I have been waiting all month for you. I knew you would eventually show up and I knew it would be today. You wish to bargain with Zelda, heh? I have been generous with pearls from my chest of storied treasures, no?Now my dears, you must leave me one of your own. I will place your tale into my enchanted box to live along with the others. For I see into you with curious eyes, hear your voice with caring ears and touch your soul with tender hands. Your story belongs to me now.

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

What is it?I will be Blogging everyday beginning on April First with a topic themed on something with the letterA, then on April second another topic with the letter B as the theme, and so on until I finish on April thirtieth with the theme based on the letter Z. The theme of the day is the letter scheduled for that day.

My theme will be short fictional (well mostly fictional) stories about women. Each woman’s name will begin with the appropriate letter of the alphabet for that day.All of the women will have the common life experience of a loss of some type.I invite you, Dear reader, to comment on how you interpret the loss.

Yvette

Yvette was painfully shy. The month was June and she was a high school senior. She, along with 429 other students, would be graduating in just 10 days. Yvette was an average looking girl. She was just about the same height as most of the other girls. She wasn’t thin, but she wasn’t fat either. She didn’t have waist length hair nor was it cropped super short. Her clothes were not fancy, but they were not plain. When the hallways were full of students passing onto their next class, Yvette blended in with the throng.She wondered what it was like to be part of the group. The group who was not ordinarily average. The group who saved seats for each other in the cafeteria and hung out together on weekends.Yvette did participate in three extra curricular activities. She did the typing for the school newspaper, sang in the chorus, and was a member of the business club.She had three best girlfriends and a steady boyfriend.After graduation she lost touch with the three girls. Her steady boyfriend became enamored with a taller, thinner girl with waist length hair and broke up with Yvette.Two years later Yvette graduated from Secretarial Business School. She went to work in an office where she met her future husband. They waited exactly three years to move into their first home. They adopted a puppy and six months later their first child was born. They had two more children spaced 3 years apart. She drove a soccer mom van and worked as apart-time receptionist for a local dentist.And yet Yvette was still painfully shy. She wondered what it was like to be part of the group. The group of women who stood a little apart from the crowd. They lunched on Wednesday afternoons and saved seats for each other at the games. Yvette’s children grew up, went to college, married and went on to live their own average lives.She divorced, re-married and became a grandmother. They moved into an active adult community. And yet Yvette was still painfully shy.She wondered what it was like to be part of the group. The group of ladies who played mahjong on Thursday evenings, and saved seats for each other at the Women’s club luncheons. The month was June and Yvette was now a widow in her late sixties. The letter had been forwarded from one of her former addresses. “You are warmly invited to Washington High School’s 50th reunion.”She visited the web site that was mentioned in the letter. There were “then” and “now” photos posted on the site. As she looked at the pictures of her former class mates, she realized how similar they had all come to look. The women mostly all had blond hair and wore their short hair in a bob style. The men were gray or balding. Yvette smiled to herself. How ordinarily average they all seemed now. She would not be going to the reunion. She was still painfully shy.But she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be part of the group. The group of old friends who would surely save each other a seat at the dance.

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

What is it?I will be Blogging everyday beginning on April First with a topic themed on something with the letterA, then on April second another topic with the letter B as the theme, and so on until I finish on April thirtieth with the theme based on the letter Z. The theme of the day is the letter scheduled for that day.

My theme will be short fictional (well mostly fictional) stories about women. Each woman’s name will begin with the appropriate letter of the alphabet for that day.All of the women will have the common life experience of a loss of some type.I invite you, Dear reader, to comment on how you interpret the loss.

Xena

The auction was scheduled to start at 9:00 a.m. Xena arrived at the hall at 7:00 that morning to preview the items and save herself a front row seat. The aisles were lined with tables and shelves filled with old things. Things from dad’s now empty house, grandma’s attic, or aunt Sophie’s jewelry box. Old things that Susie or John didn’t want and quite frankly couldn’t understand why Dad, Grandma or aunt Sophie ever collected such things. But, Xena loved old things. She shopped at thrift shops and second hand stores for her clothing. She was drawn to the 1960s era. She wore long flowing skirts, peasant blouses and a braided band around her forehead. She was especially obsessed with one old thing in particular. One that she had been pursuing for the last ten years. It was the one she needed to complete her most valued old thing collection. The first time she saw It was at Sam’s “Every Other Friday Night” auction.The craftsmanship was exquisite, displaying the finest of detail. It sparkled under the spotlight. “This is one of a kind, folks,” claimed Sam. “You’ll never see another one like it,” he added. And he started the bidding off at $25.00Xena was an auction novice back then. When Sam asked for $35.00, Xena tentatively held up her paddle. She was quickly outbid, though. The bidding was lively. When she turned around she saw that that several other lovers of old things were competing against her. She didn’t win her treasure that day and has been on a quest ever since.Over the years, Xena has established good relationships with a lot of other auction regulars. Except, that is, for Zelda. You might say that she and Zelda were auction arch enemies.And anyway, as the saying goes, “There are no friends at an auction when the bidding begins.”Xena could hardly believe her eyes when she saw It advertised on the “Now and Again’s” web site. She was one of the first to arrive that morning and she was sure hoping that Zelda wouldn’t show up. Xena perused the items which were going to be auctioned off. She strolled up and down each aisle pretending to be interested in this or that old thing. She was there for the prize, though. And she intended to get It, no matter what the cost. She knew that Bob, the auctioneer probably would have It up front. Maybe even under lock and key. Certainly he would have someone guarding It, that was for sure. She nonchalantly made her way through the growing crowd.And there It was. As glorious as she remembered. At 9:00 Bob made the announcement for everyone to take their seats. “The auction is about to start,” he called out. As everyone got seated, Xena scanned the audience looking for Zelda. She was relieved to see that she wasn’t in the room.After three hours of waiting, It finally was going to be the next item up for bidding. When Bob held It up, Xena could barely breath. Her pulse raced and her heart began to thump. Bob started the bidding at $50.00. Xena held back, not wanting to show her hand. At $150, Bob called, “Going once, going twice…Xena, called out, “Here, $160!”Her opponent hesitated, then said, “I’ll go $170!”Xena and her opponent went back and forth for several more times and finally Xena’s opponent dropped out at $200. Xena relaxed, she knew It was going to be hers at last.Once again Bob called “Going once, twice…Then a voice from the back of the room called out “three hundred dollars!”Xena didn’t even have to turn around, she recognized Zelda’s voice.

Monday, April 27, 2015

What is it?I will be Blogging everyday beginning on April First with a topic themed on something with the letterA, then on April second another topic with the letter B as the theme, and so on until I finish on April thirtieth with the theme based on the letter Z. The theme of the day is the letter scheduled for that day.

My theme will be short fictional (well mostly fictional) stories about women. Each woman’s name will begin with the appropriate letter of the alphabet for that day.All of the women will have the common life experience of a loss of some type.I invite you, Dear reader, to comment on how you interpret the loss.

Willa

I had a friend, oh it was years ago. Gosh, I haven’t seen or talked to her in well over 30 years. I don’t know why I am thinking about her today. Perhaps it was the strange dream I had last night. It’s funny, you know, that I refer to my dream as strange. Aren’t they all strange? Dreams I mean. Well, anyway about my dream. I was in a hospital. Lying in a hospital bed. I felt comfortable lying there. More than just comfortable, rather I would describe the feeling as snug. You know that cozy feeling you get when you wake up on a cold morning and you just want to stay in your bed? The comforter is puffy and cozy and your pillow fits under your neck just the right way. Safe and warm. That’s the way I felt in the dream as I lay in the hospital bed. I was wearing a blue hospital gown with yellow ties. The garment was cotton. It was soft against my bare skin.I heard a noise, like a moan. I turned my head towards the sound. I saw a young girl, sitting on the edge of the other bed in the room. Her hair was messy, wild shards of wire sticking up and poking out. She was bent over and hugging herself tightly. She was whimpering and repeating words that sounded like gibberish to me. I couldn’t understand what she was saying. I was drowsy. My body felt heavy. I couldn’t lift my head, or arms. My legs wouldn’t move. I tried to call out “help?” But the words came out as merely a hoarse whisper.He was shaking me. Startled, I jumped up, my heart beating fast. “You were moaning,” he said. The dream has been haunting me all day and I’ve been feeling a bit off. You know how it is when you have that kind of dream.I clicked on the email. It was from my friend Kat. We keep in touch through Facebook and send an occasional note back and forth. “Just thought you should know, Willa passed away last night. She was a passenger in a fatal car accident.”Willa. She and I used to get into all kinds of mischief when we were kids. There was the time she coaxed me into getting on her motorcycle. We were sixteen. “Come on,” she said. “It’s easy.” She gave me a quick lesson. “You turn the right handle towards you to go faster. Then, if you want to stop, you pull this lever here.”“Don’t worry, I’ll ride on the back with you.”I saw the car. I tried to stop. I panicked. Instead of grabbing the brake lever, I turned the handle towards me. The one that controls the accelerator. The bike jolted, sped forward, went into a skid and flew out from underneath us. I got away with a few superficial cuts and a bruised knee. Willa, a broken leg. Luckily, we both survived, but our friendship kind of waned after that.

Saturday, April 25, 2015

What is it?I will be Blogging everyday beginning on April First with a topic themed on something with the letterA, then on April second another topic with the letter B as the theme, and so on until I finish on April thirtieth with the theme based on the letter Z. The theme of the day is the letter scheduled for that day.

My theme will be short fictional (well mostly fictional) stories about women. Each woman’s name will begin with the appropriate letter of the alphabet for that day.All of the women will have the common life experience of a loss of some type.I invite you, Dear reader, to comment on how you interpret the loss.Viola

It was a January day. The sky was ice cold blue. The boardwalk was nearly deserted. Every now and then a jogger would pass them by, huffing out a cloudy puff.Viola insisted on wearing the pink coat with the tulip hood and tassels. It was a birthday present. A surprise package that came in the mail, just for her. She held onto the string tightly as they walked along. She looked up towards the sky and smiled. When the nice lady asked her which balloon she wanted, she didn’t hesitate, not even for a second.“The yellow one,” she said. “The one shaped like a star.”When they came to the candy store, Viola asked if she could, “Just go look.” “Please?” she said. She handed the balloon to her mother and said, “Don’t let it go, Mommy. Not yet.”Viola’s mother, Wendy, stood by as her daughter gazed longingly at the large shop window. It was one of their favorite stops. Wendy had her own balloon. A red, white and blue one. After a while, she called out to the little girl, “Come on Vy. We have to get going.”They walked a little further to the steps leading to the beach.The wind was brisk down by the water. Wendy pulled Viola’s hood up, and tied the tassels under her chin. She knelt down and wrapped her arms around the child, hugging her tightly. “It’s okay, Mommy,” Viola said softly. “Daddy is going to be so happy when he gets our balloons.”Viola’s mother stood up and said, “Are you ready, sweetie?” “One, two, three.”They both let go of their balloons at the same time. The star dipped and soared. Viola giggled. She had picked the star especially for she knew it would make it all the way to heaven’s night.

Friday, April 24, 2015

What is it?I will be Blogging everyday beginning on April First with a topic themed on something with the letterA, then on April second another topic with the letter B as the theme, and so on until I finish on April thirtieth with the theme based on the letter Z. The theme of the day is the letter scheduled for that day.

My theme will be short fictional (well mostly fictional) stories about women. Each woman’s name will begin with the appropriate letter of the alphabet for that day.All of the women will have the common life experience of a loss of some type.I invite you, Dear reader, to comment on how you interpret the loss.This is a companion piece to yesterday’s post titled Tilly.

Uma

Jack sat on the edge of his chair next to her bed. Her hand laid limp between his palms. Her breathing was shallow and labored. Community Surgical Supply had delivered two oxygen tanks that morning. Thin clear plastic tubing wrapped around her ears like eyeglasses. At times she would get restless, or perhaps it was the pain. That’s when she would try to pull the prongs out of her nostrils. She rallied yesterday. She was alert, almost like her old self. She recognized her children. Her face softened when they brought the newest grand baby to her. She repeatedly told each of them how much she loved them. After everyone had gone and they were alone, she smiled and asked him if he remembered the first time they met. He assured her he did, “My sweetheart,” he said. She was growing tired, her voice weak. She reached her hand up to his face and brushed the tears from his eyes. “I will always be with you,” she promised. “You will never be alone. Wait for me on our special bench,” she said, as she smiled up at him. “Look for me there.” She closed her eyes and slept. He stayed by her side as he nodded off and on during the night.He dreamt of her, the way she was as a girl. Uma was a likable young woman with a ready smile. She wore her hair in a pony tail that bounced when she walked. The first time he saw her, he nodded at her, touched the brim of his hat and gave her a wink.

Tilly concentrated intently on the report she was writing. She had been steadily working on it for the past two days. She was bleary eyed from staring at her computer screen and her neck was starting to ache. Although she could use a break, she had a deadline to meet. She stood up, stretched and walked over to the open window. As she leaned on the sill, a silky breeze grazed her hand. She suddenly felt an uncanny urge to walk along the trail. She pulled her hair into a pony tail, grabbed her camera, left the office and headed towards the park.She stopped at the bridge hoping to capture some photos of the fluttering, hopping, scampering wildlife living around and under the bridge. She saw an older man sitting on the bench. He nodded, touching the brim of his hat, then gave her a little wink.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

What is it?I will be Blogging everyday beginning on April First with a topic themed on something with the letterA, then on April second another topic with the letter B as the theme, and so on until I finish on April thirtieth with the theme based on the letter Z. The theme of the day is the letter scheduled for that day.

My theme will be short fictional (well mostly fictional) stories about women. Each woman’s name will begin with the appropriate letter of the alphabet for that day.All of the women will have the common life experience of a loss of some type.I invite you, Dear reader, to comment on how you interpret the loss.

Tilly

The entrance to the path is darkly shaded by leaves of giant old elms. The tops of the trees bow towards each other to form a dense archway.

The trail meanders along an abandoned 15 mile rail corridor. It was Tilly’s favorite place to go for a peaceful bit of calm. Tilly was a likable young woman with a ready smile. She jauntily navigated the path, her pony tail swaying back and forth. She cheerfully waved greetings to the other walkers, joggers and bikers. The bridge, which crosses over Lohiel Creek, was near mile marker 2. It was one of her favorite spots. It was there that she would stop to chat with Mr. Jack. He was a dear old man who wore a wide brimmed straw hat. He regularly rested on the park bench next to the bridge. He leaned on his cane with both hands under his chin and was a passerby watcher.
She remembered the first time she met Mr. Jack. She had stopped at the bridge hoping to capture some photos of the fluttering, hopping, scampering wildlife living around and under the bridge. He nodded, touching the brim of his hat, then gave her a little wink.

Over the next year, Tilly and Mr. Jack’s relationship evolved from a casual acquaintance to a valued friendship.
She giggled the time Mr. Jack presented Tilly a bouquet of wild flowers.
Without consulting each other, it just seemed to happen naturally, she would bring the coffee and he the chocolate donuts. One for each of them.
She confided to him that she wanted to go back to school, art school. She showed him her photographs. He encouraged her and told her she had real talent.
He talked about his wife, Uma. He told Tilley that he and Uma sat on this very bench every afternoon. It was their bench. He said they had been child hood sweethearts, you know. They were together for 53 years. He explained that she passed away a year ago. His children were busy with their lives. He certainly understood. He was young once too, he told her with a wry smile.
The day Tilly quit her job was her first day of art school. She couldn’t wait to tell Mr. Jack.
She briskly jogged the path, the coffee sloshing out of their cups.
He was there, as usual, waiting for her.
He was proud of her, he said. He knew she could do it.
Jack looked at Tilly intently studying her face.
She was puzzled. She wanted to know if everything was okay.
That’s when he told her about the illness.
She tried but couldn’t hide the tears. He told her it was okay to cry and she rested her head on his shoulder.
They had time, he promised.
And he kept his word.
He came to her first showing. She brought the coffee and he the chocolate donuts.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

What is it?I will be Blogging everyday beginning on April First with a topic themed on something with the letterA, then on April second another topic with the letter B as the theme, and so on until I finish on April thirtieth with the theme based on the letter Z. The theme of the day is the letter scheduled for that day.

My theme will be short fictional (well mostly fictional) stories about women. Each woman’s name will begin with the appropriate letter of the alphabet for that day.All of the women will have the common life experience of a loss of some type.I invite you, Dear reader, to comment on how you interpret the loss.Sylvie

She sat in the hard wooden chair. Her inquisitor sat across the bare wooden table from her.

He clicked on the recorder and the questioning began.

My name is Sylvia Brown.

I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth.So… help me, please?

The story I am about to tell you may sound unbelievable. Trust me,though, the events happened exactly as I say they did.

On the morning of August 15, I was awakened out of a sound
sleep by a loud clap of thunder.

Todd was out of town.I was alone in the house.Well, at that time I didn’t know I was alone because I thought Bunky was there with me. I was still groggy so it took me a few seconds to realize
that Bunky, our 3 year old German Shepherd, wasn’t at the foot of the bed.

Bunky was terrified of loud noises, particularly
thunder.I figured he must be
hunkered down somewhere.

I called out to him.Usually, he would have come running, ready to leap on the bed and lick my
face.

But he didn’t .I started to get anxious.I
was worried.I knew something was
wrong.I got out of bed to look
for him.

I looked in the other bedroom, study, and bathroom, all the
while whistling and calling his name.

Then I went downstairs.I was surprised to see that the front door was wide open.

I must not have closed the door all the way. The wind from the fierce storm probably blew it open. I was upset when I realized that Bunky had gotten loose.

What happened next changed the course of my
life.

I sloshed barefooted through the debris and puddles of
dirty water that had swept into the entranceway.When I got to the front door I leaned out and yelled for
Bunky.But, I didn’t see any sign
of him.

The rain had stopped by then. I was about to go back into the house to throw on some clothes
so I could go look for the dog when a car pulled into my driveway. I couldn’t see them clearly, but I could tell that a man was in the driver’s seat and a woman was beside him.

The woman lowered her window and yelled out my name.

“Sylvie,” she said.I was puzzled.I didn’t
recognize the car or the couple.

I thought, Who are
these people?How do they know my
name?

“We know where Bunky is,” she said.

The man leaned over the woman to get closer to the open
window.

“We can take you to him,” he said.

My first instinct was to close and lock the front door.Of course, I now know that is
exactly what I should have done.

But, instead I held up my finger and said, “Wait one
minute.”

I quickly pulled on a pair of sweat pants and tee
shirt.I grabbed my yellow slicker and purse.

At that moment all I could think about was finding
Bunky.When I look back on
it now, I realize that I should have paid attention to my “better judgment”
voice.The one that kept nagging
at me, “Don’t get into that car.”

As I approached the car, Iheard the door unlock.The woman motioned me to the back seat and said, “Quick get in!”

“Hurry,” the man said, we don’t have much time!”

They remained facing forward. All I was able to see were their profiles.

He had gray hair.Her hair was short and black. She was tiny, her head barely reached the top
of the dashboard.

The man didn’t wait for me to sit down.He put the car into reverse, quickly
backed up, roughly pushed the gear shift into drive and screeched the tires as
he sped off.

I had a million questions.

“How do you know my name?”

“How do you know where Bunky is?”

“Where are we going?”

They remained silent.

By then I was suspicious.

“I changed my mind,” I said.“I want to go home,” I pleaded.

There was still no response from either of them.

When he stopped at the first red light, I frantically tried
to open the door.It was locked.

I screamed and banged on the window, hoping the women in the
car next to us would hear me.

She turned, looked at me and smiled just a little, almost a
smirk, I would say.

I reached up and grabbed the black haired woman around the
neck.

She pulled up her hands and wrapped her fingers around my
arms, digging her nails into my flesh.I screamed and let go.

She whipped her body around and slapped me across the
face.She climbed into the back
seat.That’s when I saw the
syringe.

I remember getting drowsy, but that’s the last thing I
remember about that morning.

The next thing I do remember, I was awakened out of a sound sleep by a loud clap of
thunder.

Startled, I sat up.Bunky was asleep at the foot of the bed.

I remember thinking that I must have had a bad dream.

I felt a stinging pain on my arms.I rolled up the sleeves of my pajamas gasped when I saw the
scratches.

Please, can we stop now? I’m so tired. You keep asking me the same questions over and over.

I swear I don’t know where Todd is.

I don’t know how I got back to my house.

And I certainly don’t know where the money came from.

The inquisitor pushed the stop button. The loud click made Sylvia jump.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

What is it?I will be Blogging everyday beginning on April First with a topic themed on something with the letterA, then on April second another topic with the letter B as the theme, and so on until I finish on April thirtieth with the theme based on the letter Z. The theme of the day is the letter scheduled for that day.

My theme will be short fictional (well mostly fictional) stories about women. Each woman’s name will begin with the appropriate letter of the alphabet for that day.All of the women will have the common life experience of a loss of some type.I invite you, Dear reader, to comment on how you interpret the loss.

Rachel

I came across it the other day.

I was looking for something in the drawer of the dining room hutch. It was one of the pieces I claimed from my mother’s house after she passed away. It had been her mother’s. The drawer wouldn’t open all the way. Something must be stuck in the back, I thought. I reached in and pulled out a faded envelope. Inside was a photo and a handwritten letter. I studied the photo. I recognized my grandmother, my mother and my aunt. There was another woman carrying a child. I could not identify them. It appeared the group was unaware their picture was being taken. They seemed to be walking as if they were in a hurry. My grandmother was leading the pack with a determined look on her face. I fondly remember that look. There was a sign on the building in the background. It was Kresge’s Department store in Newark, NJ. I did a search and found that the store was a subway stop for trollies. * Perhaps they were rushing to catch the next trolly. The letter was written in Italian. Even though all four of my grandparents were born in Italy and English was their second language, regretfully I don’t speak or understand much. But I did recognize a word or two. The ink on the letter was quite faded.

I managed to transcribe it into a word document. I found a program on the net and translated the letter.

Good day to you Aunt,

I hope this finds you well. Please help mama take care of my
Tony. I will miss him dearly. Someday, soon, I hope, I will be back
for him.

First I must try to find
Alfonso.He has gotten himself
into trouble.

Aunt, you are strong.Mama needs you.She is worried.

Good bye for now.

With all of my love,

Rachel

I never knew Rachel’s mother or of her, actually. I remember my uncle Tony. He was a nice, quiet and gentle man. He called my grandmother mama. I always thought of him as Uncle. But, now I know that he was a cousin not my uncle. I wonder whatever happened to Rachel. Sadly, I have no one to ask. But I do have the photo and what a great story that would make. *Broad St was the major shopping street of Newark. In 1926, the Kresge's store at the southwest corner of Broad and Cedar arranged to have a platform opened in the subway at its basement level, allowing customers to come in directly from the subway. The station was opened in January 1927 on the inbound side. The only access was through the store. Kresge's was a general store similar to Woolworth's. The company now operates the Kmart chain.